


Frenching

by Severina



Category: Oz (1997)
Genre: Community: hardtime100
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-26
Updated: 2009-11-26
Packaged: 2017-10-09 18:29:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/90276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Conversational French, Beecher-style.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Frenching

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt 16: Speaking in Tongues (LJ's Hardtime100 Community)

Toby frowned down at the book, his brow furrowed in thought. His lips moved as he murmured softly to himself.

"Toby."

Toby raised a brow. "Hmm?"

"You're talking to yourself."

"Sorry," Toby said distractedly. He fidgeted on the bed, propped the pillow up a little more comfortably against the glass. Read the next sentence and instructions several times, then closed his eyes and repeated it quietly.

"Toby!" Chris barked out.

"Fuck! What?"

"I'm tryin' to concentrate down here."

Toby sighed. Holding his place in the book with an index finger, he shifted closer to the edge of the bed so that he could peer over the edge of the bunk. "Yes," he said dryly, "I can see that the latest issue of _Farm Sluts_ requires all your concentration."

Chris grinned up at him. "I got it for the articles."

"Don't you mean the letters?"

Chris lifted a shoulder. "Same difference." He set aside the magazine and slid from the bunk, leaned an arm on Toby's bed and cupped his chin in his hand. "What's got you all worked up and muttering to yourself?"

Toby's eyes shifted warily. "Nothing."

He slid back, tried to shift the book into his other hand, but Chris was fast. Toby's fingers scraped helplessly at the spine before the book was ripped out of his hands.

"Conversational French," Chris read aloud. He squinted at the cover. "You learnin' French, Tobe?"

Toby crossed his arms, tried to look casual. "So it would appear."

"Why the fuck do you wanna learn French?"

"I don't know."

"Does anybody in this joint even speak French?"

"I don't know."

"So why the fuck do you wanna learn French?"

Toby dropped the nonchalant stance and made a wild stab at snatching the book back; slumped back against his pillow with a sniff when Chris smirked and held it out of his grasp. "I just do, okay?" he grunted out. "I've always wanted to learn a foreign language, and all my years of Latin gave me was the ability to understand _The Iliad_." Toby waved a hand. "Now give it back."

"Hell, you don't need a book. I can help ya with that," Chris said. He leaned closer, smoothed a strong hand over Toby's thigh, squeezed gently. He batted his eyelashes and plastered an exaggerated leer on his face. "Voulez vous coucher avec moi, ce soir?"

Toby huffed out a sigh. "And I could use that _when_, exactly?"

"It means 'will you fuck me tonight.'" Chris cocked his head. "Thought you'd know that, Tobe, since you say it in English every single night."

"Actually, it means 'will you sleep with me', and there is really no one in the vicinity that I'd want to use that phrase on. Including you, if you don't give me back my book."

"Fuck. You on the rag?"

"Right. _That'll_ get you in my pants, Keller."

Chris snorted and tossed the book onto the bed. "You can't learn a foreign language unless you practice," he pointed out.

"Which is exactly what I was trying to do until you interrupted me!"

Chris strolled across the room, leaned against the wall next to the sink and crossed his arms at his chest. "You need to practice _with_ someone."

Toby scowled and flipped through the pages, trying to find his place. "Maybe Sister Pete speaks French," he murmured. He finally found his spot, closer to the front than he remembered, and sat hunched over the book, his lips silently tracing the words on the page.

"Yeah," Chris said after a long moment. "Maybe."

Toby blinked and looked up. Chris had turned away, flicked on the tap, but his fingers clutched the edge of the sink and the water swirled unheeded into the basin. His broad shoulders flexed under the too-tight blue thermal he wore, and Toby had a sudden flash of those shoulders flexing beneath his hands while he murmured foreign words of adoration and appreciation in Chris's ear.

"Unless," Toby said.

Chris rolled his shoulders, reached over and turned off the taps without ever having touched the water.

Toby hopped lightly down from the bunk, hesitated briefly before curling a hand on Chris's waist. He leaned forward to press his lips to the nape of Chris's neck, darting out his tongue to lick at the soft skin before pulling away, lifting his head to meet Chris's eyes in the mirror.

"Unless," Toby repeated against his ear, "you decide to be my French partner."

Chris cocked a brow before turning in his arms. "Sit around all day sayin' shit like 'the cat is sitting on the chair' and 'where is the bus station'? No thanks."

Toby licked his lips. "Oh, there's other things we can say."

Chris squinted. "Yeah? Like what?"

Anderson's light tenor announcing the call for Lights Out plunged Em City abruptly into semi-darkness. Toby tossed the book haphazardly toward his bunk, not particularly caring if the tome actually reached it or not. He took the last small step separating them, leaned his body against Chris's muscular hardness.

"Baise-moi," Toby breathed lightly against his skin.

Chris shivered, met his eyes. "What's that mean?"

Toby pushed him toward the bed, fingers already scrabbling at the hem of Chris's shirt. Chris was wearing entirely too many clothes.

Chris grabbed at his hands, strong fingers stilling Toby's frantic quest for skin. "Toby?"

"Trust me," Toby panted. He shifted his weight, tugged Chris forward until the back of his own knees hit the mattress and he could let himself fall, pulling Chris after him. He wrapped a hand around Chris's neck, pulled him into a long and searing kiss before smiling against Chris's mouth. "You'll figure it out."


End file.
